


Insomnia

by ValkyriaRising



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Almost smut, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, But not quite, First Kiss, Haven (Dragon Age), Hot Springs, Kissing, M/M, Making Out, Mutual Pining, Pre-Skyhold, and almost sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:00:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27765622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ValkyriaRising/pseuds/ValkyriaRising
Summary: Damien couldn’t sleep. The Inquisition was supposed to close the Breach tomorrow, and despite the exhaustion that had settled in his bones, he couldn’t stop fidgeting. He found some peace—and a hot spring—on the back of a horse. Then, a certain Tevinter mage found him.
Relationships: Dorian Pavus/Male Trevelyan, Male Inquisitor/Dorian Pavus
Kudos: 33





	Insomnia

**Author's Note:**

> This one-shot was entitled ‘Angsty Pool Party’ in my drive—I forgot I wrote it and it gave me a good laugh when I noticed it again. 
> 
> A little bit of DA this time <3 I’m so unbelievably excited for DA4 and I decided to put that energy into writing a small, angsty, but heated drabble about my boys. I hope we get to see Dorian and maybe even our Inquisitor again.
> 
> Warnings: angst, pain from the Anchor, interrupted makeouts, almost smut, but not quite
> 
> -Valk

When he had a moment to breathe—Damien finally snuck away from Haven, quietly saddling Maribelle up and hopping up on her back, hoping the sound of her hooves crunching in the snow wouldn’t wake anyone or alert anyone to his departure. They were going to close the Breach tomorrow, but first, he needed space. 

The past few months had stirred up a plethora of feelings in him. The constant talk about the Breach made fear rise in his chest—then talk of the Mage-Templar War replaced that fear with regret and remorse. Next came talk of demons and rifts and every new place they went those two things seemed in endless supply and he was exhausted. Every muscle and bone in his body ached and at first he had blamed it on the cold, but some nights the mark on his hand would pulse and pain would crawl up his forearm and by the time he fully woke up the next morning, he felt as if he’d been thrown around by a herd of charging Druffalo. 

The warrior had just planned to sit at the top of the ridge and look at the stars—he just wanted a bit of peace and quiet—but he noted what looked to be smoke off in the distance. He urged Maribelle forward cautiously, curious to see if they had stumbled upon a poorly hidden enemy camp, but upon further inspection, he discovered that not smoke, but steam was rising from a fissure in the ground. 

He followed the split in the earth through a small, but thick patch of vegetation, kicking branches away from his legs to clear a path. In front of him stood a surprising, but welcome sight. 

A small hot spring bubbled quietly, nestled unassumingly among a small patch of trees and snow drifts. The steam that rose from the water warmed the air slightly, and Damien welcomed the feeling as it brushed his face. He dismounted Maribelle, tying the reins to a nearby tree limb before removing his glove to skim a hand through the water. A comfortable heat radiated up his arm and a small sigh of relief escaped his chapped lips.

Setting his armor aside and his greatsword within reach, Damien settled into the water, glad to not feel the cold prick his skin for once. The warmth seeped into his aching muscles and joints and the ginger allowed himself to sit back for once, resting his head on his arms and letting his eyes fall closed. The uncomfortable pulsing of the anchor seemed to fade the longer he sat there, settling at the back of his mind—the first time it had become an afterthought since he had woken up in Haven. 

Damien wasn’t sure how much time he spent sitting there letting the warmth seep into his skin. He needed this more than he thought; it was the first bout of peace and quiet he had had in a while and it was nice not to have people circling around him. While he found that he enjoyed Varric and Solas’s company, Cassandra was never far away—hovering over him with a suspicious eye. He couldn’t say he blamed her—he had appeared under suspicious circumstances, but no matter how hard he focused, he still couldn’t remember anything after the explosion. 

Everything since then had been a blur of meetings and new places and unique people. Surrounded by templars and mages alike, he kept being pulled one way or the other. He had toyed with the idea of running away—never to be seen again—but he had run away from too many important things in his life and regretted it every time. He had decided late one night, as he stared up at the anchor and watched it pulse bright green before dimming again, that he would no longer be a coward. So many lives depended on his ability to close the Breach. 

So he remained—going where he was directed and doing what Leliana, Cullen, Josephine, and Cassandra thought was best. He had realized early on that he was surrounded by some of the most talented people in all of Thedas, and it seemed that his inner circle grew with each excursion. While Sera and Bull had been interesting—albeit loud—additions, the one that perplexed him most was the Tevinter mage. 

He and Dorian had travelled to the future together—watched their friends sacrifice themselves to make sure they survived together—and neither had said so much as word about it since they got back. They had both been subject to intense questioning by Solas and the war council alike, but while they had interacted with one another every day since then, neither had spoken a word about it to the other. Damien assumed they had come to a mutual understanding that what they saw was horrible and needn’t be spoken about. He was almost glad not to address it again. 

What the ginger needed to address, however, was the butterflies that fluttered in his chest every time the mage looked at him. It had been 6 months since Alex had died, and Damien still wasn’t sure if it was appropriate to even be having these feelings. He had barely begun to process the fact that Alex had died when he met Dorian. Now, he had come to terms with it, but had yet to forgive himself for his inability to protect who he thought was the love of his life. 

Damien wasn’t sure what had gotten into him, but every time Dorian so much as glanced at him his heart fluttered. It made him feel like a teenage boy again. The ginger had made it a habit to visit the scion at least once a day without realizing, usually bringing the mage a cup of hot tea and laughing when Dorian denied being cold, but took the warm drink anyway without complaint. The fleeting moments they had spent together made Damien smile, but he clenched his jaw when a tinge of bitterness soiled the edges of his thoughts as he was thrown back to his dilemma. 

The sound of a branch breaking drew him quickly from his thoughts and he sat up, eyes narrowing as he peered into the surrounding darkness. Maribelle was nosing through the snow nearby for what was left of the fall grass underneath. She wasn’t the least bit alarmed—which made the ginger relax a bit—but he still kept a hand extended towards his greatsword. His emerald eyes scanned the undergrowth. 

“You’ve really stumbled upon something of a gem, haven’t you?” A familiar voice cut through the night air, and Damien relaxed, sitting back under the water again. 

“You can join me if you promise not to tell,” he replied, watching as Dorian ducked under a branch and stepped out of the trees, the lantern in his hand flickering dimly. “I just happened to come across it.” 

“The Herald sneaking away from camp in the dead of night—a bit scandalous, don’t you think?” 

“You were the one who followed me,” Damien retorted, watching in amusement as Dorian raised a playful eyebrow, his brown eyes glowing in the lantern light. 

“You didn’t seem too concerned with covering your tracks,” Dorian shot back, taking a seat at the edge of the spring. Damien regarded the mage for a moment, crossing his arms across his broad freckled chest. 

“Are you saying you regularly follow random tracks you find in the woods?” 

That made Dorian’s brow furrow, and the Tevinter mage shook his head, something between a smirk and a grimace gracing his lips. The look made Damien chuckle and the ginger sat back again, resting his elbows on the smooth rocks behind him. 

“No, but I do find it curious when I see Thedas’s only hope wandering silently off into the woods without saying a word to anyone about where he’s going,” the mage replied. “Especially before such a big day.” 

“What? A man can’t search for some peace and quiet,” Damien sighed, not missing the way Dorian’s gaze quickly flitted down to his chest before moving back to his face. “ Afraid I’ll run off?” 

“If you did I wouldn’t blame you. It’s awfully drab here. Miserably cold. No one bathes more than once every few weeks. No grapes.” 

“I don’t know about grapes, but I can promise I bathe at least once a day and that this water is warm—so things aren’t as bad as they could be,” the Herald chuckled, gazing at Dorian for a moment before opening his mouth to speak again. “You should come in. Better than the freezing cold air anyway.”

Damien saw Dorian’s hesitation immediately and almost retracted his statement when the mage stood up, his fingers toying with the first of his belts as he regarded Damien indecisively.

“I don’t bite… not unless you want me to, at least.” Damien attempted to smooth other Dorian’s obviously ruffled feathers with a bit of flirtatious humor, and after a moment it seemed his attempt worked. Dorian chuckled, the uncertainty in his eyes fading and being replaced with something akin to mischief. 

“Easy, Trevelyan—you had me at ‘the water is warm’.” Damien smiled, watching as Dorian turned and began to undo his belts. 

The ginger took his time scanning Dorian’s frame now that there were no critical, prying eyes on him. The lantern light highlighted every curve and muscle that accented Dorian’s tan skin as he slipped his clothes off and Damien couldn’t stop himself from licking his lips, smirking when Dorian glanced over his shoulder and caught his wandering gaze. Damien could have sworn he saw Dorian’s face flush, but he chalked it up to the heat from the steam rising off of the water. 

Out of respect (well, more accurately out of a need for him to calm himself down) Damien turned his gaze to Maribelle, watching her paw at the snow absentmindedly to see if she could find more grass hidden underneath. She reminded him less of Alex now, but the memories would always cling to her. The ginger waited until he heard the splashing of water before turning back to the mage, finding Dorian leaning against the bank opposite of him.

While Dorian wasn’t who he expected to come walking out of the trees, Damien was surprisingly comfortable with him being there. The warrior was still uncomfortable with his blooming feelings towards the mage, but Dorian made pleasant company regardless—never failing to make him laugh with a sarcastic comment or respond with a witty quip. They had settled into an easy silence and Damien found himself almost dozing off, leaning on his elbow with his eyes closed. 

“Does it still hurt?” Dorian’s voice was low, his gaze locked onto the Anchor. The ginger cracked an eye. It took him a moment to figure out what the mage was on about. He had grown so used to the green glow and the feeling of the Fade surrounding his arm that some days he forgot others could see it, too, and it likely came as a shock to them.

“Sometimes,” he responded, looking at his palm before extending his arm towards Dorian as the mage waded through the water towards him. “I’ve noticed it gets worse at night. Sometimes I wake up feeling like everyone in the Inquisition decided to collectively beat me up in my sleep.” 

The mage’s brow furrowed as he took Damien’s hand into his own, and the warrior had to suppress a shiver as Dorian’s fingertips traced the mark. He realized he hadn’t been touched so gently in so long and it made his chest ache.

“You should have said something—maybe Solas or I one can figure out a way to help you,” Dorian scolded gently, looking up at the Herald with a look of concern on his face. Up close, Damien took a small beat to admire the small beauty marks he had never noticed before on Dorian’s face before realizing just how close their faces were now.

“I’ve grown used to it. It would be nice to stop having Fade-induced nightmares, though.” 

“Fasta-vass. We all wondered why you look so tired,” Dorian muttered, more to himself than Damien it seemed, but that didn’t stop Damien from making a face. “I mean that in the best way, of course. Nothing wrong with your face—it’s actually quite dashing.” 

“Good to hear, I suppose,” Damien exasperated, unable to stop himself from chuckling. “I won’t say no, if you think you can help.”

That made Dorian smile slightly, and Damien noticed him hesitate for a moment before doing something the warrior didn’t expect. The mage interlaced their fingers gently—his palm resting over the Anchor—before drawing the back of Damien’s hand to his muscular chest. Damien held his breath, watching Dorian closely, realizing he could likely feel the Fade pooling in his palm. Solas had mentioned feeling something similar once when examining it and it always made him wonder if this is what mages felt all the time. 

“What does it feel like to you,” the warrior asked, silently wishing he could draw Dorian closer. The mage’s palm was warm against his own, their faces hovering inches apart. 

“Uncomfortable—unnatural,” Dorian whispered, something akin to pain overtaking his features for a moment. “It feels like the Fade, but the pull of the Anchor is strong—even stronger than when I use magic and call on it. It makes sense why you can repair rifts…” He paused, opening his eyes and looking up to meet Damien’s perplexed gaze. “With the ability to move around so much energy, I mean; I can see why it causes you extraordinary pain.” 

Damien realized Dorian was looking at him with genuine concern and the warrior sighed, his eyes falling closed. He hated when other people fretted over him; he wasn’t worth the energy they expended—especially when there were more important things to focus on. He was used to being tired these days and hadn’t given much thought to how he felt—never questioning whether it was normal. 

When he opened his emerald eyes again, Damien’s gaze met Dorian’s again, and he realized the mage had yet to let go of his hand. He was hyper aware of how close they were now, and the feeling of Dorian’s hand wrapped around his own was almost comforting. It felt as if it was supposed to be there—and the fact that Dorian let it remain despite how uncomfortable the Fade must feel to him made Damien’s heart flutter. Dorian reached up with his free hand to pull their foreheads together, bringing it to rest at the base of the warrior’s neck. 

“At the risk of sounding… gooey,” Dorian started. “I feel as if I need to remind you that you’re not in this alone, Damien. Let me- let us help you.”

The way his name left the mage’s lips made Damien shiver and Dorian responded by tightening his grip on the warrior’s hand. 

“You and I have been to the future together and fought off a crazy magister that just so happened to be my old mentor. All of this was personal from the moment we met.” 

Dorian drifted every so slightly closer as he talked and Damien finally leaned forward, closing the gap between their lips. The kiss was chaste at first. They both hesitated—unsure of how the other would react—but they eventually fell into it naturally. Damien felt guilty at first, but soon got lost in the feeling of Dorian’s lips against his, and his guilt faded to the back of his mind. 

The Tevinter scion maneuvered him carefully backwards, and Damien let Dorian press him against the side of the spring. The warrior couldn’t stop the gasp that escaped his lips when their bodies were pressed fully against one another. 

It didn’t take long for things to grow heated. Damien growled when Dorian bit at his lower lip teasingly, shaking his head when the mage smirked at him before trailing a hand across his freckled chest. Damien hoped the mage couldn’t feel how fast his heart was racing. 

The next moment, it was all over. 

Pain flared in the ginger’s hand and he yelped in surprise, yanking his hand out of Dorian’s. Dorian recoiled, grimacing as he felt the Fade push and pull around the Anchor. The warrior clenched his fist tightly and clutched the Mark to his chest, clenching his jaw as the pain flared once more then slowly ebbed away. Of all moments…

“Are you alright?” Dorian inquired warily, reaching towards the warrior hesitantly—unsure of how he would react. 

Damien gave a tense nod, shakily opening his hand and watching as the green light faded to a dim glow again.

“Can I…?” Damien looked up at the mage, realizing he wanted to help, and unsteadily nodded again, flinching when Dorian touched his hand. Dorian muttered under his breath for a few moments before waving his hand. The warrior felt a cooling sensation envelop his palm and then spread up his arm. The ache the Anchor usually produced in his fingers seemed to slowly disappear and he sighed in relief. 

“I‘ll see if the elven mage and I can come up with something more concrete, but for now that should help.” 

All Damien could do was nod in response. There was a small pause.

“Apologies—I-,” but Dorian cut him off. 

“-didn’t know that happened when you got too excited? No worries my dear Herald—I tend to do that to people.” 

That made Damien laugh and he gave Dorian a sheepish look. 

“If we survive tomorrow maybe I’ll indulge you,” the mage teased, dispelling a bit of the tension in the air. He pulled himself out of the water more gracefully than Damien expected and grabbed his clothes. Once dressed, he looked over his shoulder at the warrior—a small smile gracing his lips. 

“If it gives you any more trouble—you’re to come to me immediately. And don’t disappoint tomorrow, Trevelyan.”

”Wouldn’t dream of it, Pavus.”


End file.
